Though the Heavens Fall
by freyjaschariot
Summary: After personal tragedy tears Oliver and Felicity apart, Felicity moves to Gotham to start over. Two years pass but neither of them can seem to move on. Then, when a new menace rises in Star City, Felicity is pulled back into a life she thought she'd left behind. Will the worst threat the city's faced in years bring these two back together? Or will it push them even farther apart?
1. Chapter 1

The Chateau du Monde.

Favored restaurant of Gotham's rich and famous. Five star Zagat rating. Owned by Bruce Wayne and frequented by the billionaire and his rotating entourage of models and socialites. A six month waiting list for a reservation. Three massive chandeliers. Long neck candles on every table. A violin quartet and a sommelier in a three piece suit. The crème de la crème of Gotham eateries, pun very much intended.

Felicity wasn't really feeling it.

She hadn't felt this apathetic about a date since that swimmer in college had invited her for "a fun night out" that ended with her sitting on the pool deck while he practiced his flip turns. Felicity kept telling herself that her lack of enthusiasm was just because she's had a long day-nine hours of merger talk with the people from LexCorp will wear on a person-and not the fact that she shouldn't have agreed to the date at all. That this was all happening too soon. That she wasn't ready.

 _It's been almost two years, Felicity. Move on._

As a waitress bent over the table to refill their water glasses Felicity stole a glance at Ted over the top of her menu. What was wrong with her? Her date was tall and handsome, with a thick head of hair and dark eyes that crinkled around the edges when he smiled. Not to mention wildly intelligent- the founder of his own tech conglomerate, Kord Industries. Oh, and then there was the fact that he was great in bed. Which she knew because they'd been sleeping together for months, ever since they first butted heads in a business meeting back in July. They were good old fashion friends with benefits. Just sex. No cuddling. No cooking each breakfast in the morning.

Or at least, they had been old fashion friends with benefits. Until a week ago when, in the middle of an afternoon quickie in the private bathroom in Felicity's office, Ted had pulled back from kissing her neck and said in a serious tone that he didn't use very often, "Come to dinner with me."

She'd said no. Of course she'd said no. She wasn't look to date, wasn't looking for a relationship. Then later that day she'd been standing in the grocery store checkout aisle and her eyes had fell on a tabloid cover featuring a glossy photo of Oliver and one of his political aids. The small dark haired one. Monica, if Felicity remembered correctly. Oliver was leaning toward her, his hand on her elbow, whispering something in her ear while she laughed. The headline read: _Mayor Queen Moves On?_

It was stupid, Felicity knew. To agree to a date just because some trash magazine claimed Oliver was sleeping with one of his assistants. Felicity knew better than anyone that 99% of tabloid stories were complete bullshit. And even if it was true, Oliver moving on didn't mean that Felicity had to. She knew this. And yet somehow that hadn't stopped her from leaving her groceries on the belt to call Ted from the parking lot.

"I changed my mind," she said. "About dinner. Let's do it."

So now here they were, sipping from a $200 bottle of wine at the fanciest restaurant in the city, avoiding each other's gazes and shifting uncomfortably in their seats like two people who hadn't spent the last three month rolling around in each other's beds.

"So," Ted said, as the waitress finally backed away. "Um. How was your day?"

Felicity made a face.

"That bad, huh?"

"Worse."

Two leggy supermodel swept by their table, their long evening dresses rustling with tiny embroidered pearls. Felicity pulled self-consciously at the cuffs of her polka dot blazer. She hadn't had a chance to change after work and her cute jacket, pencil skirt outfit suddenly felt like a potato sack. Felicity caught a glimpse of her reflection in the back of her spoon and grimaced. Her eyeliner was completely smudged and her lipstick was nothing but a mauve memory.

"Hey, are you alright, Smoak?" Ted asked.

"What?" Felicity tore her eyes away from the spoon. "Oh yeah, I'm fine. Just...feeling a little underdressed. It's nothing." The maître d passed by, leading the Mayor of Gotham and his third wife to their usual table in the back corner.

"It's too much, isn't it?" Ted ran a hand down his face. "All my friends said this place was too fancy for a first date but I didn't listen.  
"No," Felicity protested. "No, it's not too much. It's, um..."

Ted glanced around at the quartet waxing mournfully behind them. "Felicity, I'm pretty sure those violinists think it's 1912 and the Titanic's about to go down. You know what-" he threw his napkin on table "-let's forget this. We're scientific people. We can recalibrate. There's a Big Belly Burger two blocks over. How do burgers and shakes sound?"  
Felicity's shoulders slumped with relief. "Honestly? That sounds perfect."

Fifteen minutes later Felicity was sinking her teeth into the best Double Belly Buster (extra pickles, hold the mayo) she'd eaten in her life. She let out a moan of pleasure. Across the table Ted raised an eyebrow.

"Like that, do you?"

"Es it's awful, I hate it," Felicity said through a mouthful. She swallowed and took a long drag on her chocolate milkshake. As she drained the frothy dregs from the bottom of her glass, her eyes flicked to the television flickering above the bar. It was set to channel 5 news.

 _Huh._

That was a Star City news channel. The reporter looked like he was at some kind of ribbon cutting ceremony. Probably for the new police headquarters, Felicity realized. She'd read about it online. After their old one had been shot up more times than she could count, SCPD was finally getting a new building. About damn time, she thought.

Felicity was about to look away when he walked into the frame.

The straw slipped from her lips.

After almost two years, the tightening in her chest when she saw Oliver was more of a dull throb than the raw, ever-present ache she had lived with for the first few months after the break up. She noted this with a detached sense of awareness, like a doctor recording the progression of a disease. Was this because she was finally moving on or if she'd just gotten better at compartmentalizing?

 _Probably the second one. Almost definitely the second one._

On the TV, someone handed Oliver a pair of comically large scissors. He smiled and laughed but that didn't stop Felicity from noting the shadows under his eyes and the slight slump in his posture. They were just tiny things but to her they were giant neon signs telling her he'd been up all night at his second job. The slightly less legal one.

"Excuse me- " Felicity hailed their waitress as she passed "-would you mind putting on the game?"

"Sure, hon. Which game did you want?"

"Um...whichever one is on right now?"

The waitress raised an eyebrow.

Ted was watching her with an inscrutable expression. She thought she saw a flash of something- _pity? worry?_ \- but then he turned to the waitress and said, "the Rangers-Jays game just started. We're big fans. Thanks."

"Not from around here, are you," the waitress said wryly. But she slipped away and a minute later Oliver was replaced by the baseball game.

Felicity hoped Ted didn't notice her letting out her breath. She carefully avoided his gaze, swirling a french fry around a puddle of ketchup, her appetite all but gone. Dropping the French fry, Felicity flashed Ted a smile. "Hey, I'm stuffed. Want to go for a walk before my zipper pops?"

Ted took her redirection in stride. "Sure," he said, pulling out his wallet and dropping a five on the table for tip. "Although I wouldn't object to any zipper popping either."

"I thought that's what this night was all about," Felicity teased, shrugging on her jacket. "To see if we could be about more than zipper popping."

Felicity couldn't help noticing how easily Ted smiled. He smiled often, and without thinking. She had been like that once. Not so much anymore.

"That's exactly what it's about." Still smiling, he stood and offered her his hand.

It was brisk night, but not too cold to be outside. Leaves crunched beneath their feet as they walked along the river, listening to the water shush through the reeds at the edge of the bank. The moon hung like a chipped tooth in the star speckled sky. Two swans drifted by, luminous in the darkness.

Felicity could tell Ted wanted to hold her hand but she wasn't quite there yet so she pushed her hands into the pockets in her jacket and pretended not to notice his eyes following them as they disappeared.

They talked about work mostly, which was unsurprising since that was where they'd met, a year and a half after Felicity had moved to Gotham to be Wayne Enterprise's new head of Developmental Technology. Ted had tried to get her to buy a bundle shipment of Kord Industries new fiber optic lenses. Felicity replied there was no way she was buying anything from him until he dropped the suit claiming Wayne Enterprises had stolen the codes for its new cyber security software. The suit was just a delaying tactic, meant to keep the software off the market until Kord Industries could release their own bastardized version.

"And how can you be so sure of that?" Ted had asked, eyes sparkling.

"Because I wrote the damn code myself," she replied.

Now here they were, walking down the river side by side, the lights glimmering on the dark water. And it felt good. Nice. Felicity felt light and relatively carefree for the first time in a long time. Maybe, just maybe, this hadn't been a huge mistake. Maybe she was ready to try again. Maybe everything that had happened with Oliver hadn't left her as irreparably damaged as she'd thought.

An hour later when Ted walked her to the front stoop of her apartment building, Felicity hesitated on the top stair, wondering if he was going to kiss her. The fact that she was worried about a kiss seemed ridiculous considering they'd done pretty much everything else already but somehow she was. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, her hand nervously jangling her keys in her pocket. "I had a really good time tonight."

"Does that mean you'd be open to date number 2? I'm thinking somewhere less fancy than The Chateau but slightly more upscale than Big Belly Burger."

Felicity tapped her chin, pretending to think about it. "I'll consider it. Tell your people to call my people." A sudden gust of wind swept down the street and sent the hem of her coat flapping her legs. Felicity sucked air through her teeth, surprised by the biting cold.

Ted backed away from the stoop as leaves swirled around his ankles. "You're a tough cookie to crack, Smoak."

No kiss then. Felicity couldn't tell whether she was relived or disappointed. She smiled down at him. "I am. But I'm worth it."

"Hey, you don't have to convince me."

Felicity watched him slide into the front seat of his car before letting herself into the apartment. Upstairs, she shucked her heels, changed into pajamas, and crawled into bed with a glass of her new favorite red (a 2009 Castaño Monastrell, plummy, with notes black pepper and a palatable $10 price tag) and her laptop. "Alright, Nancy," she said to the computer, "let's take a look-see at what our criminal friends are up to tonight. How does that sound?"

Sipping her wine, Felicity pulled up the Star City Police and Fire bulletin and scrolled through the new entries. She might have left Star City behind but she couldn't help checking in every few days to see how things were going. She was like an anxious parent whose child had gone away to college, whose affairs she tried to micromanage from afar. Only in Felicity's case she was the one who'd left so maybe that wasn't such a great metaphor after all.

The bulletin was short. A couple of muggings. An three alarm fire at a chemical warehouse in the Triangle. A stabbing outside a bar in the South End. Almost all of the incidents had been quick open, shut cases but Felicity felt a detectivey mood coming on so she set her wine glass on the nightstand, quickly hacked into the SCPD system, and helped herself to the files of the detectives who had worked the warehouse fire case.

Felicity's eyes flickered across the screen.

Fire crews had arrived at the scene at approximately 9 pm to find heavy smoke and flames coming from the building. The fire had engulfed a laboratory measuring about 7 meters by 5 meters, in close proximity to a production and storage area. There had only been one person inside at the time of the blast- the longtime foreman. The man died of smoke inhalation and injuries sustained in the blast en route to the hospital. The fire marshal hadn't found any clear indication of what caused the explosions to take place however there were no sign of foul play and the fire had been ruled accidental.

Felicity read through the report a second time to make sure she hadn't missed anything. Usually if she thought she could add something to the investigation she put together a file and sent it anonymously to Captain Lance, knowing he'd pass it on to the team. Not that she actually thought they wouldn't figure out where information came from. Somehow, it was just easier that way.

Tonight, at least, Felicity had nothing to contribute. Nothing stuck out as suspicious. There was just the niggling feeling in her gut that something wasn't quite right. Felicity quickly drained the rest of her glass and shut her laptop a tad harder than necessary. Grimacing, she patted the top of the machine. "Sorry, Nancy. I didn't mean it."

Felicity fell back against her pillow with a slight huff. She should get up and brush her teeth but that would require getting out of bed and bed was so lovely and comfy and warm. Her mind turned over the events of the day. All in all things had gone pretty well- her first date in two years and it had only been sixty percent disastrous. She liked Ted. She liked Ted a lot. So why was it Oliver's face she couldn't get out of her mind? If his appearance at the ribbon cutting ceremony was anything to go by he was not getting enough sleep. Who was running the comms tonight? Dig? Thea? If Oliver was sleep deprived he'd need an especially level headed person in his ear.

 _It's not your responsibility any more. Go to sleep._

Sighing, Felicity rolled onto her side and switched off the light.

It was a long time before she managed to push his face from her mind and even longer before sleep finally took her.

Sighing, Felicity rolled onto her side and switched off the light.

It was a long time before she managed to push his face from her mind and even longer before sleep finally took her.


	2. Chapter 2

"They got away." Oliver strode into the lair and slammed his bow down on the table.

Dig looked up from the computer where he was running the comms. "Thea got one. She's dropping him off at the precinct as we speak."

Oliver nodded tersely. Well that was good at least. "Maybe he'll rat on the others."

He and Thea had been patrolling the docks after getting a tip off from Lance that the Triad was operating a human trafficking ring under the guise of a shrimp importing business. The Triad had failed to show up— instead they'd stumbled right into the middle of a drug deal going down behind a stack of shipping containers at the end of the east pier. The perps had scattered and there had been too many to chase them all down.

"We can hope." Dig pulled off his earpiece and lounged back in his chair. "Do you remember that fire in the Triangle last weekend?"

Oliver glanced up from unzipping the top of his suit. "The one at the chemical warehouse?"

Dig nodded. "I dug into it a bit."

Oliver's brow furrowed. "Why? The fire marshal ruled it accidental."

"They did. But I had a weird feeling about it so I talked to Mike Daley's daughter—the foreman who was killed in the explosion," he explained when Oliver gave him a blank look. "She said the only reason her father was at the factory that night was because he got a call from the security company about a break-in."

Oliver's head was pounding. His limbs felt like lead. He should have been able to catch at least one of the dealers but he had been off his game, sluggish. For weeks he'd been running on four or five hours of sleep. Apparently it was beginning to catch up with him. He shook his head, fighting back the urge to yawn. "So?"

"So I had Lance put in a call to the security company," Dig said. "According to them, there was no break-in. The alarm never went off."

It took a moment but eventually the pieces started to click together. "You think the call was a fake? Someone lured the foreman to the warehouse and then set it on fire?"

Dig shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe I'm making mountains out of mole hills. But something just doesn't feel right, man. And there's been a bunch of other cases recently where I've had the same feeling—like things just don't quite add up."

Oliver frowned as he grabbed a t-shirt from the bag of street clothes he kept in the lair. "Like what?"

"That woman whose balcony gave out in Adams Heights?" Dig said. "The apartment manager said they'd just finished a full building inspection. There was nothing wrong with the balcony the day before she fell. And then there were those brothers shot behind the club in Lamb Valley. Their mother said they got a call from a friend asking for a ride home but when they showed up—"

"No friend," Oliver guessed.

Dig nodded again. "And they both end up dead in an alleyway. No suspects. Seems like an awful lot of coincidences to me."

Oliver ran a hand down his face. "Not every death is murder."

"No," Dig allowed. "But in this city enough of them are to make me suspicious. I just think it's worth looking into. Run a cross-check on the victims or something. See if they had anything in common."

"Fine," Oliver said, too tired to think about it any further. "Do it."

Dig paused then said, "Well, I would, Oliver, but I'm not a tech guy. This is kind of beyond me. Beyond any of us, I'm guessing."

Oliver tensed halfway through shrugging on his leather jacket. "What are you saying, John?"

"I think you know what I'm saying. We could really use Felicity's help on this one."

How was it possible that the mere mention of her name could steal the breath from his body faster than a punch to the gut? Oliver didn't pause to think. "No."

"I know you're not exactly on good terms—"

Oliver held up a hand, cutting him off. "It's not about that, Dig. She chose to leave. She wanted away from...all this."

 _From me._

"Man, are you really gonna pretend like we don't know where Lance gets his intell from? Felicity might have left the city but she still cares about what happens here. She'd want to help."

"We have no right to drag her back here," Oliver said stiffly.

Diggle raised an eyebrow as he crossed his arms. "Are you saying that for her sake? Or for yours?"

They stared each other down for a moment. Then Oliver turned away. He was too tired for this. He hefted his bag onto his shoulder and headed for the garage. "I'm done talking about it. Tell Thea she can head out as soon as she's dropped off that perp."

"Oliver—" Dig called after him.

Oliver didn't look back.

Going sixty on his Ducati it only took him five minutes to get home from the lair.

 _Home._

That was a generous term for his living situation.

After everything that had happened Oliver hadn't wanted to stay in the loft alone. Without Felicity's presence filling it up the open floor plan had felt cavernous and cold. Oliver had considered asking Thea if she wanted to move back in with him but in the end he'd decided against it. His sister was young. She had her own life and he had no right to latch onto her just because he'd grown unaccustomed to living alone.

He ended up renting a small one bedroom in a complex in Orchid Bay only a few blocks from City Hall. The building was quiet. Clean. And pet friendly, Thea had pointed out when they'd done a walk through before he signed the lease.

"You could get a dog."

He gave her a look. "I don't have time for a dog."

"A cat then."

"Thea."

"A goldfish. Come on, Ollie. Live a little."

A week after Oliver moved in he came home to find three colorful tropical fish swimming in a large tank on his kitchen table. According to the note Thea left beside the tank, their names were Mo, Larry, and Curly—a callback to the hours the two of them had spent watching The Three Stooges as kids.

 _They need to be fed twice a day. I left the food on the counter. The tank is self-cleaning. Try not to have too much fun, ok?_

Now when Oliver let himself into the apartment he was met by the soft blue glow of the tank cutting through the darkness. He tipped some food into the water and headed for the bathroom. A shower turned out to be exactly what he needed. The pounding water and steam coaxed some of the tension from his shoulders and eased the pounding in his temple.

Oliver had just dried off and pulled on a pair of sweatpants when the doorbell rang. He was considering ignoring it when a familiar voice called, "Ollie, open up. I know you're in there."

Oliver pulled open the door. "Thea?"

His sister brushed past him, holding up a large white take-out bag. "Sichuan Gourmet . They put in an extra order of egg rolls and there is absolutely no way I can eat all this by myself."

Oliver smiled as he shut the door behind her. "I guess I can take for one for the team."

"My hero." She glanced at him over her shoulder as she headed for the kitchen. "Do you still have the duck sauce from last time? They didn't put any in."

"Blasphemy."

"I know!"

They ate siting on the living room floor, pulling dumplings and egg rolls straight from the containers.

"I saw the article about you and Monica," Thea said lightly, stealing a glance at Oliver over the top of the carton of moo shu.

Oliver snorted. He wouldn't call anything published by The Daily Star an article. Toilet paper, maybe. Even that was generous.

"So...what's up with you two?"

"Nothing," Oliver said firmly, hoping to shut down the conversation before it started. "She works for me. That's it."

"Maybe it doesn't have to be. She likes you, you know."

"Thea."

"I'm just saying, you guys seem like you could really get along. Like outside of a professional sense, I mean. It doesn't have to be anything serious. Just a drink every now and then—"

"I said no," Oliver growled.

They sat in silence for a minute, the relaxed atmosphere suddenly pulled taut. An ambulance whined by on the street below.

Thea poked dejectedly at her moo shu. "I didn't mean to upset you. I just think you deserve another shot at being happy. Is that so bad?"

"I am happy," Oliver said dully. His tone was so incongruous with the statement that he almost laughed. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snapped at you. I know you're just trying to help." He searched around for new topic of conversation. "Was Lance grateful for his present? I assumed you wrapped the guy up with a bow for him."

"Oh yeah," Thea said airily. "I'll be expecting a thank you card any day now."

When Oliver walked Thea to the door half an hour later she gave his arm a tight squeeze. "I've got your back, bro. You know that right?"

"I do. Thank you."

"See you tomorrow, Mr. Mayor."

"Good night, Speedy."

Oliver put the leftovers in his otherwise empty fridge and dropped their cups into the sink to deal with in the morning. As he wandered into the bedroom Thea's words replayed in his head.

 _You deserve another shot at being happy._

Oliver appreciated the sentiment but in the end it didn't matter if he was deserving or not. He'd had everything he ever wanted and somehow he'd let it slip away.

Oliver found himself standing in front of his closet, staring down at the three cardboard boxes shoved against the wall behind the neat row of suits. One box was full of cookbooks—somehow the endeavor had lost its appeal without someone other than himself to cook for. The second held all the odds and ends that had been salvaged from the ashes after the Queen Mansion burnt to the ground.

And the third—

Oliver pulled it out and stared down it. The box had been opened and resealed so many times that the layer of packing tape keeping it shut was half an inch thick.

 _Don't do it,_ the voice in the back of his head warned. _You'll regret it. You know you will._

Oliver kept a Swiss army knife in the top drawer of his bedside table. The small blade made quick work of the tape and he pushed back the flaps.

Her favorite MIT sweatshirt.

A few mismatched earrings.

A chipped Return of the Jedi coffee mug.

The ninth season of Doctor Who on Blu-Ray.

Oliver fished out the small velvet box that held his mother's ring. He kept meaning to do something with it. Give it to Thea, or something. He definitely had no use for it. Not anymore. But every time he tried something stopped him. It had only been Felicity's for five months but somehow the thought of anyone' else wearing it, even his sister, seemed wrong.

 _That's stupid. It's just a piece of jewelry._

Oliver set the ring aside, recommitting himself to giving it to Thea the next time he saw her, and turned back to the box.

There was only one thing left.

Oliver picked up the sonogram and held it up to the light. The image was small, just 4 inches by 4 inches. And there wasn't much to it really. Just a small black kidney bean swimming in a sea of grey and white static. Felicity had only been three weeks along when it was taken. Ignoring the sudden tightness in his chest, Oliver flipped it over. The note on the back was short. It had only taken him two reads to memorize the entire thing.

 _Oliver— so that happened._

 _Sorry I didn't tell you sooner. I just wanted to be sure._

 _You're happy right? I bet you are, you big sap._

 _We'll talk when I get home from work._

 _I love you._

 _-F_

Oliver thumbed the light grooves where Felicity's pen had pressed into the photo paper. He could picture her bent over the kitchen counter in the loft writing the words. She'd have been chewing her lip, a little crease between her eyebrows. The morning light catching in her hair.

The surge of longing was sharp and sudden. Oliver dropped the sonogram as if it had burned him and shoved the box back into the recesses of the closet. Then he scooted back a foot, his head falling back against the edge of the bed.

In the back of his head the small voice sighed.

 _I told you you'd regret it._


	3. Chapter 3

The doorbell rang for the second time just as Felicity was turning on her Keurig. Grumbling softly, she shuffled to the door in her slippers and yanked it open.

"For the last time, Mrs. Probinsky, I didn't take your newspaper—"

Unless Felicity's neighbor had grown two feet and become a man in the last fifteen minutes the person at her door was not Mrs. Probinsky.

It was John Diggle.

"Hi, Felicity."

Felicity squeezed her eyes shut, sure she was hallucinating. When she opened them he was still there, standing on her stoop in the same brown leather jacket he'd been wearing the last time she'd seen him, over two years ago. "You're here," she said stupidly.

He watched her with an amused expression. "It would seem so."

"Why?" Felicity blurted. "Not that I'm not happy to see you. I am. Happy to see you, I mean. I'm just surprised. It's been...a long time."

"Two years," Dig agreed. "You don't call, you don't write. You don't answer my phone calls. If I didn't know any better, Smoak, I'd think you were trying to avoid me."

Felicity grimaced. After she left Star City she had all but cut off contact with everyone from her old life, including Dig. At first because it had just been too painful but after...in her rare moments of self-reflection Felicity knew it was because she was scared. Scared of dredging up the past. Scared that her friends might be angry at her for leaving without saying goodbye. Scared of the fact that she had let them down. Felicity had always viewed herself as a brave person—someone willing to take a risk. But when it came to facing the disappointment of those she loved she found that her courage abandoned her.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I almost visited. A few times. But then work got busy and—"

Dig put his hand on her arm. He was smiling. "It's okay, Felicity. Believe it or not I did not come here to guilt trip you."

She shook her head, smiling tentatively back at him. "Why are you here?"

"Army reunion," Dig said, stuffing his hands in his pockets, his shoulders hunched against the cold air. "A few of my buddies from the platoon moved here a couple years ago. We try to get together every now and then. Reminisce. I thought I'd look you up while I was here. Come say hi."

"Well, hi then," Felicity said. A gust of wind blustered down the street, whipping the dry leaves into small tornados that spun out across the pavement. Felicity tugged her sweater tighter around her shoulders. "You wanna come inside? It's freezing out here."

Felicity glanced back at Dig as he followed her into the kitchen. "Coffee?"

"Please."

As Felicity busied herself pulling down two mugs from the cupboard Dig sank into one of the chairs at the kitchen table and glanced around the apartment. The décor was quintessential Felicity. Brightly colored pillows lined the couch. An elliptical sat in the corner of the living room. Movie posters festooned the walls. But something was off about it and it took Dig a minute to figure out what. Then, as Felicity turned around balancing two overfull mugs in her hands, it struck him. There were no photographs anywhere. The fridge, the mantel, the end tables— they were bare.

Felicity set one mug in front of Dig, then slid into the chair across from him, cradling her own mug in both hands. "Cream, no sugar. That still right?"

He nodded. "Thanks."

"No problem." Felicity took a sip then set her mug down. "So how are you? How're Lyla and Sara? I wanna know everything."

As they talked Felicity's initial shock at seeing John wore off, and was replaced by a cheery warmth in her chest at the sight of her friend. The thought that she had avoided him for so long out of some misguided fear that he would hold her need to get out of Star City against her felt criminal and downright stupid. She had missed out on so much. And for what?

"There are two other things I wanted to talk to you about," Dig said half an hour later, as Felicity stood up to refill both their mugs.

"Oh?"

"The first is the most important. I promised Lyla I'd give you this." He held out bright pink envelope.

Felicity took it, glancing at him as she sat back down. She slid a finger under the flap and lifted out the contents. "An invitation to Sara's birthday party?" Her heart clenched. "That's really sweet, Dig."

He raised an eyebrow. "But?"

Felicity bit her lip. "I don't know if it's a good idea."

"Because of Oliver?"

Felicity looked away. Despite the hot mug in her hands and the warmth emanating from the radiator by her feet she suddenly felt cold. "Does he know you're here?"

"No. Felicity, I tried to be Oliver's relationship ambassador once before— when you were with Palmer—and that was a mistake. I shouldn't have gotten in the middle of it but I did. I never apologized for that but I should have. I'm not here for Oliver. Whatever is going on between you two is your own business." He leaned back in his chair and held his hands up. "I'm just here as a guy who misses his friend. And as a dad whose daughter would love to have her godmother at her birthday party."

Felicity nodded and looked away, blinking rapidly. She took a long sip of coffee. The radiator reached the end of its cycle and shut off, leaving the tiny kitchen impossibly quiet. In the sudden silence, Felicity made a decision.

"I'll try to come," she said, looking up at Dig. "I'll talk to Wayne when I get into work today. Our merger talks with LexCorp are almost over. Maybe next week would be a good time for me to take a couple days."

"Okay." Dig nodded. "But if you don't come that's okay too. Just maybe answer your phone every once in a while."

Felicity laughed. "Yeah. I think I can do that. You said there were two things you wanted to talk about," she said, remembering. "What was the second thing?"

"It's about our...volunteer work."

Oh. "Vigilante Inc.?"

"Yeah."

Felicity cocked her head, waiting for him to continue.

"There have been several deaths in the city recently that have just felt...off."

Felicity's brow wrinkled. "Deaths? You mean murders?"

Dig shook his head. "Not according to SCPD. According to official reports they're all accidents. A loose screw in a woman's balcony. A broken traffic light that caused car accident. An inexplicable fire."

"The warehouse fire in the Triangle?" Felicity said without thinking. She flushed, knowing she had just given herself away. "So maybe I've been checking up on the city every now and then," she said defensively as Dig smiled.

"You're a hero Felicity. That's not an easy occupation to quit."

 _I'm not,_ she almost said. _Heroes don't run away when things get hard. Heroes stay. Heroes fight._

She forced herself to look back at him. "What do you need from me?"

"If I give you a list of names could you run a crosscheck on them? Lance did an initial one but I was hoping you could dig a little deeper. We're looking for commonalities— shared acquaintances, anything from their pasts that might give us an idea of why they were targeted. If they turn out to be linked that means there's a serial killer out there—a smart one. We need to know if that's the case. "

Felicity nodded. "I can do that."

"Great. Thank you."

Leaves blustered against the glass but inside it was warm. Cozy.

"It's really nice to see you, Felicity," Dig said. He held up his mug. "And to drink your coffee. Oliver tries but his coffee is shit."

The memory took her by surprise. Oliver standing at the counter measuring out coffee grounds one morning a week after they'd moved into the house in Ivy Town. "You're using that much grounds?" Felicity had asked, coming to stand beside him. "For that much water?"

"Is that wrong?" he asked, his face adorably confused.

Felicity made a face. "Only if you want to drink your coffee instead of chew it."

"Help."

She'd wrapped her arms around his waist, rising up on her tippy toes to rub her nose against his. "What do I get if I help you?"

"Drinkable coffee?"

She kissed him, softly but with a hint of urgency. "What else?"

His eyes darkened and Felicity yelped as she was suddenly swept off her feet. "I'll show you," he growled.

By the time they got back out of bed again it was time for dinner and the coffee had been all but forgotten.

Felicity gave Dig a small smile, her heart twisting in her chest. "I do remember him struggling with that."

"Well, I better go." Dig stood up and shrugged on his jacket.

"You're leaving already?" Felicity was taken aback by the strength of her disappointment. "I have to go to work in half an hour but if you wanna stick around we could get lunch. I might be able to leave early too. I could take you up to the top of Wayne Tower. The view from up there is amazing at sunset."

"I'd love to but my flight's in an hour. I'm pushing it already."

"Of course," Felicity said, trying to hide her disappointment as she followed him to the door. "Some other time."

When Dig turned back on the stoop to hug her, Felicity was surprised by how hard it was to let him go.

"You'll check about the party?" Dig said as he pulled away.

Felicity leaned against the door frame, clutching her sweater closer to her body as the cold began to leach through the thin material. She nodded.

"See you soon then," he said.

"See you soon," she echoed.

She watched him until he disappeared around the block. Even then she lingered. She had shut out all reminders of her old life for so long to have such a large one show up unexpectedly had thrown her for more of a loop than she'd ever admit. It was as if she'd thrown a blanket over her old life in Star City and seeing Dig had pulled it back again. She couldn't say if she resented him for it or if she was grateful.

"Is Mr. Wayne in?" Felicity asked Bruce's secretary as soon as she got into the office.

"He's in a meeting—" Patricia began, but a deep voice cut her off.

"Actually we're all done. You wanted to speak with me?"

Felicity turned to find herself face to face with Bruce Wayne. He was about the same height as Oliver (Felicity hated that she always did that—comparing every man she met to him), though a tad slighter, more narrow in the shoulders, and sharper; sharper cheekbones, sharper jaw. Dark eyes that cut like a knife. It had taken Felicity weeks to be able to look him in the eyes without feeling the urge to flinch. But she was not wholly unfamiliar with prickly males and after a while she had adjusted. Now she liked to play a game she called _Can I make Bruce Wayne smile today?_

In two years she had won the game three times.

Felicity nodded and Bruce waved her into his office. They were on the seventy-third floor of the building and the walls were all glass. The rest of Gotham sparkled far, far below. Pedestrians on the sidewalk looked like ants. A few blocks over the trees in Grant Park were ablaze with color.

Felicity plucked up her courage and began. "I need a few days off and since the merger talks are wrapping up I hoped it would be alright if I maybe cashed in a few of my sick days."

Bruce lowered himself into his chair, steepling his hands on his desk. "Something come up?"

Felicity hesitated. "My goddaughter is turning five on Monday. I was there when she was born but I missed her last two birthdays. I really don't want to miss another one."

He held her gaze for a minute and she was struck once again by how dark and cold they seemed. Then he shrugged and looked back to the computer. "Take the time, Smoak. When you get back we'll look another look at the numbers from the Fester report."

Felicity let out her breath. Something about Wayne kept her on her toes whenever she was around him. "Thank you."

"And Ms. Smoak?" He called as she laid her hand on the door.

Felicity turned.

He was still staring at the computer. "While you're in Star City tell the Arrow hello for me."

Felicity's mouth fell open. "I—" she was about to deny his silent claim but he raised an eyebrow and she knew it was a lost cause. He knew. Which probably meant he knew that she knew about him as well.

Well at least they didn't have to dance around that anymore. Felicity lifted her chin, a hint of a smile on her lips. "If you tell the Bat not to take too many unnecessary risks while I'm gone."

Bruce held her gaze without blinking. Still, Felicity thought she'd seen his lips tilt imperceptibly. That counted, right? She made the executive decision that it did.

 _Score one for me._

Bruce turned back to his computer. "Goodbye, Felicity. Have a safe trip."

Felicity smiled as she left his office. Patricia gave her a strange look; people didn't often leave Bruce Wayne's office with a smile

When she got home Felicity texted Dig to let him know she was definitely coming.

 _Does Sara still want a pony for her birthday?_

A minute later he texted back.

 _No ponies unless you're sticking around to clean up the shit._

 _Okay but what if the pony comes with a bedazzled pooper scooper_

 _No ponies, Smoak_

Felicity slumped down into the couch. Her smile slowly faded as the reality of the situation began to sink in. She was going back. Back to the place she'd run from so far and so fast from that she'd ended on the opposite coast of the country.

 _It's only for a visit. Your life is here now. A two day trip isn't going to change that._

But she still had to deal with the question that had been running circles in her mind all day. Did she tell Oliver she was coming? Dig probably had told him by now, right? Although he had said he was interfering between them anymore. Did that include letting him know she'd be at Sara's birthday party?

She'd deal with that later, she decided. In the morning.

Yes. That would have to do.

For now she took out Dig's list of names, fetched her computer, and curled back up on the couch to do some serious digging. If there was a connection, she would find it.

Her fingers flew across the keys.


	4. Chapter 4

Oliver was late for the party.

He'd been late when he left city hall an hour ago and now, after fifteen minutes of sitting in his car in the Diggles' driveway, he was even later.

At least he could be sure that no one had expected him to be on time. There was something to be said for consistency.

 _Get out of the car, Queen._

For fuck's sake he had survived five years in hell, one which was spent embedded in the Russian mafia— he could survive a five year old's birthday party.

Only the party wasn't really the problem.

She was.

 _If you don't want me to come, I won't,_ she'd texted him.

Oliver Queen had a lot of talents— most of them relating to different ways to incapacitate people— saying no to Felicity Smoak was not one of them.

 _It's fine,_ he sent back. _See you there._

She hadn't responded. He assumed that meant she was coming. That she was inside the house right now, probably wondering what he was doing sitting in his car in the dark.

Sighing, Oliver reached for his seatbelt.

Dig opened the door wearing a My Little Pony party hat. "Hey, man, glad you made it. Come on in."

Oliver stepped into the bright foyer, which was festooned with pink and yellow streamers. A pack of five years old shrieked by, whacking each other over the head with Styrofoam swords. Oliver glanced past Dig into the living room, where the adults were standing around in groups of twos and threes.

"You casing the place?" Dig asked, eyebrow raised as he pulled the door shut behind them.

"What? No, I, uh—" Oliver cleared his throat "is she—?"

Dig clapped Oliver on the shoulder. "She's here, yeah. She and Lyla went off to stack the presents in our bedroom. Although between you and me, they also had a bottle of wine and the entire cheese plate so I'm pretty sure 'stacking the presents' is code for hiding from the neighborhood association ladies."

Oliver nodded stiffly. "Speaking of presents." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box wrapped in silver paper. "It's a bracelet. To go with the necklace."

Dig took the box. "She's gonna love it. Thank you."

Oliver shifted uncomfortably. His tie felt inexplicably tight around his neck. He tugged on the knot but the feeling didn't go away.

Dig was watching him with an amused expression. "You know what you need? Some of Lyla's adult punch. That woman does not play around when it comes to booze. Yeah?"

Booze. Yes. Best idea he'd heard all day. "Please."

"Two seconds," Dig said, pointing at him. "Don't you run off while I'm gone."

No promises.

Dig disappeared into the kitchen and Oliver loitered in the doorway for a moment, not quite ready to join the party yet, then turned and headed for the hallway bathroom. He'd splash some cold water on his face and then he'd be fine. He wasn't hiding. Definitely not hiding.

The bathroom door swung open from the inside just as Oliver reached for the knob.

An invisible vacuum sucked all the air out of the room. It must have, because suddenly Oliver couldn't breathe.

For a second they just stared at each other, her bright pink lips an 'oh' of surprise.

Then Felicity said, "Oliver?"

"Hi," he blurted.

At the same time she said, "How are you?"

They both flushed and looked away.

"You look good," Felicity said, glancing back at him tentatively. "I was a little worried." She blushed a shade darker and Oliver raised his eyebrows, a flash of dark pleasure streaking through him at the knowledge he could still make her squirm. "Not worried that you wouldn't look good," she said, backpedaling. "I mean, you always look good. You're very good looking. I just meant that I saw you on the news— at the ribbon cutting for the new SCPD headquarters—and you looked tired. But you look good...is all I'm trying to say..." She grimaced. "Please feel free to stop me at any time."

Oliver's lips curled into a smile entirely without his permission. "I'm fine," he said. "How are you?"

She nodded. "Oh, good, yeah. I—" whatever she was about to say was lost as the lights dimmed. Lyla emerged from the kitchen carrying a large pink and blue frosted birthday cake topped with five candles, flames dancing cheerily in the darkness.

 _Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you, happy birthday dear Sara..._

Felicity bit her lip, nodding to the living room. "We should probably—"

Oliver nodded and followed her to the back of the throng circled around cake.

Everyone else was looking at Sara.

Oliver looked at Felicity.

Her hair was a bit longer than the last time he'd seen her but other than that she looked the same, he realized with a flash of disappointment. So maybe he'd hoped she'd look different. Dyed her hair. Different glasses. Something. Maybe he'd thought it would be easier to see her again if she didn't look so much like...herself.

But she didn't.

And it wasn't.

She was smiling slightly, her gold hair falling in soft waves around her shoulders. The candlelight softened her features, curving across the apple of her cheek, and catching in the dip at the base of her throat.

Over the past two years Oliver had grown accustomed to longing. Regret was his constant companion, as ever present as his shadow. But standing there beside her in the darkness he realized that those feelings had just been phantoms. The yawning, hollow ache he felt now, standing closer to Felicity than he had been in years, and yet farther apart from her than he'd ever been...that was the real thing.

And fuck, if it wasn't painful.

He forced himself to look away as the song ended. Someone turned up the lights and Dig appeared at Oliver's side, worry lines etched into his brow.

"John?" Felicity said, placing her hand on his arm as he stopped in front of them. "What's wrong?"

"I just got a call from Lance. He's at a crime scene downtown. Asked us to come by."

"What happened?" Oliver asked.

"He wouldn't say over the phone."

Lyla pushed her way toward them through the throng, holding a large cake spatula in one hand. "Go," she said. "I can hold down the fort here."

Dig looked over his shoulder at Sara who was sitting on the floor happily eating her way through a piece of cake the size as her head.

Lyla turned his cheek away. "Johnny, our daughter has forty-seven presents to get through and fifteen sugar-hyped five years olds to help her do it. No offense, but she's not even going to notice you're gone."

Dig dropped a kiss on her forehead. "You know you're my hero, right?"

"I know." She patted his chest. "Now go be a hero for someone else."

Oliver was almost to the door when he realized Felicity was on his heels. He stopped short and she almost walked straight into him. "What are you doing?"

"Coming with you," she said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

The ache in Oliver's chest ebbed, morphing into something else. Something angrier. "No. No way."

Felicity scowled. "Why not? You don't know what Lance wants. You might need my help."

"We won't," Oliver said.

"How do you know?"

He didn't have a good answer for why he didn't want her to come. Something inside of him just rejected the idea, not only rejected it, shoved it away with two hands.

"It's not a good idea," he said stiffly. He looked at Dig who held up his hands in a way that clearly said _leave me out of it._

Felicity's eyes flashed. "Why are you so stubborn?"

" _I'm stubborn?_ You're the one who—"

"Guys," Dig interrupted, "I know have some stuff to work through but now is maybe not the best time."

Felicity crossed her arms, one eyebrow raised. "I'm coming."

Oliver recognized that look. It was her 'I waited in line for ten hours for the Stars Wars Episode VII preimiere and I can out wait you look'.

"Fine," he growled. "But you're riding with Dig."

Felicity rolled her eyes as she followed him out the door. "My pleasure."

The address Lance had given Dig turned out to be a crumbling apartment complex in East Gary, right on the border of the Triangle.

There was no elevator.

"Just take them off," Oliver said to Felicity, glancing at her four inch stilettos as he and Dig waited on the fourth floor landing for her to catch up.

Felicity wrinkled her nose. "And get a tetanus infection, if not worse? No thanks."

Oliver ground his teeth together. "Maybe you shouldn't have come then."

She glared at him. "Maybe you should quit being an ass."

"I did not miss this," Diggle muttered, earning a dark look from both of them.

Lance was waiting for them in the dim hallway outside apartment 614.

His eyebrows rose when he saw Felicity. "Ms. Smoak. I didn't know you were back."

"I'm not," Felicity said, still slightly breathless from the trek up the stairs. "Just in town for forty-eight hours." She pushed a lock of hair out her face. "Congratulations on your commissionership, by the way."

"Enough small talk," Oliver said. "What are we doing here?"

"See for yourself." Lance pushed open the door to 614 and waved them inside. There was hardly any furniture in the decrepit apartment. Just an overstuffed couch and a TV that looked like it had been on its last legs back in the 90s. Grayish wallpaper peeled away from the baseboards like sunburnt skin.

"The owner of this place is not winning any interior design awards any time soon," Felicity muttered as she stepped around an empty pizza box on the floor.

"I don't think he's going to be doing much of anything any time soon," Lance said. He led them to the back of the apartment and pushed open the door to the small bedroom.

"Oh," Felicity said in a small voice.

The room was tiny, just wide enough to fit the twin size bed in the middle of it. The body of an older man lay face up on the bed. If Oliver had ever met him before, he wouldn't have been able to say. Someone had shot him in the head at point black range, caving in his left eye socket and blasting off part of his nose. A bloody Rorschach decorated the wall behind him. Neon light from the flickering motel sign next door poured through the window, illuminating the mattress like some kind of perverse shrine. Oliver couldn't decide which was worse- the sight or the stench that snuck up on him and then went straight for the KO. Stale urine, blood, and a musty scent leaching from the walls. Delightful.

Oliver stopped at the end of the bed. One of the man's shoes was missing. The toe of his sock was stiff with dried blood.

"Darren Max," Lance said from the corner of the room. "63. Retired cop. Gambled away most of his pension over the last few years. The forensics team's been in and out already. Didn't find much. No fingerprints. No sign of forced entry—door was locked from the inside." He looked at Oliver. "I could really use your help on this one."

Oliver raised an eyebrow, crouching down to look at the body from another angle. "In a mayoral capacity, of course."

"Course," Lance said wryly.

Dig ran his hands over the back of his head. "You think Max racked up debts to the wrong people?"

"I don't know," Lance said. "But whoever offed him left a message."

Oliver turned to look where Lance was pointing.

There was a sharp intake of breath. "Is that—?" Felicity asked.

"Blood," Lance confirmed. "Yeah. We've got some sickos on our hands."

"Fiat justitia ruat caelum," Dig read. He glanced at Oliver. "Sounds Latin."

"Don't look at me," Oliver said. "I failed Latin. Twice."

"It is Latin," Felicity said. Her heels clacked against the floor as she crossed the room to stand beside Oliver. The urge to pull her into the safety of his arms reared up inside him, overwhelming in its insistence. Oliver shoved his hands into his pockets. "It's a legal phrase. A maxim of sorts. Let justice be done, though the heavens fall."

Dig raised an eyebrow. "Dramatic."

"Justice," Lance said, from the shadows in the corner of the room, "no matter the cost."

As if on cue, wind howled by the window, rattling the glass in its frame.

Oliver sighed.

He had a feeling it was going to be a long night.


	5. Chapter 5

Felicity and Dig stood on the cracked sidewalk outside Darren Max's apartment building waiting while Oliver and Lance talked by Lance's car, their heads bowed together, voices low.

Felicity's teeth were chattering. Star City wasn't quite as cold as Gotham—it was more known for endless rain than deep freezes—but at ten o'clock on an October evening it was still cold, and Felicity's embroidered coat was a lot prettier than it was warm.

"What do you think they're talking about?" she asked, tucking her hands into her armpits to keep them warm.

"Hell if I know," Dig said idly. "I'm just the man's bodyguard."

"At least you're not his driver anymore." Felicity elbowed him playfully. "You're moving up in the world, John Diggle."

Dig snorted. His breath formed small ghosts in the air. Felicity couldn't feel her toes. If her toes fell off would she still be able to stand up? She thought she remembered reading that all five toes were required for standing up. Or maybe it was just the pinky toes you needed, she couldn't remember. Her attention drifted back to Oliver and Lance. Oliver nodded tersely at something Lance said and two of them shook hands, then Lance got into his squad car and drove away.

"You two seem pretty buddy-buddy," Felicity said as Oliver rejoined them.

Oliver nodded to Dig. "There's not much else we can do tonight. Go home to your family. Thea and I can handle patrols alone."

Felicity felt a sting of rejection. Oliver had hardly looked at her after their tiff in the stairwell, much less talked to her. Felicity hadn't expected him to be happy to see her but with every passing moment she grew more certain that he was actually counting down the seconds until she boarded a plane back to Gotham.

Oliver started to turn away. Felicity grabbed his arm and he started as though she'd touched him with a live wire.

That stung too.

"Sorry." She shoved her hands back into her jacket pockets. "I just thought you'd want to hear what I dug up on that list."

Oliver stared at her blankly. "What list?"

"Um." Felicity looked from Oliver to Diggle, and back. Dig's face was inscrutable. "The list of names Dig gave me. Of people who have died in suspiciously unsuspicious accidents in Star City over the past few weeks?"

Oliver's face darkened. He glanced at Dig, who shrugged. "We needed help, man. The city comes first."

"Fine," Oliver said. "Meet me at the lair in half an hour. We'll go over whatever you found."

Felicity danced from foot to foot, trying to keep warm. "Um actually can we just go back to Dig's? Lyla promised to save me a piece of cake and I haven't eaten anything since the pretzels on the airplane." Her stomach made a noise that sounded like a bullfrog getting sat on. She grimaced. "That was a really long time ago."

At the house Felicity excused herself to the guest room to change out of her party clothes. She grabbed her tablet from her suitcase and was straightening when up she caught sight of herself in the mirror over the bureau and froze.

Without thinking she'd pulled on her Star City Rockets tee. The cotton was worn soft from use; the letters beginning to peel away from the fabric. She fingered the hem unconsciously, remembering.

She'd gotten the shirt the day Oliver was inducted as Mayor. After the ceremony and the press conference that followed, they had taken his entire campaign staff to Pap Stadium for the Rockets' season opener against the Coast City Angels: a small thank you for all their hard work.

During the seventh inning stretch the two of them had slipped away to the concessions. Oliver kept kissing her while they waited in line. Usually she pushed him away when he tried to kiss her in public but that day she'd been drunk on victory and spring sunshine and she leaned hungrily into every kiss.

They were heading back to their seats when Felicity noticed Oliver staring at her.

"What?" Her hand flew to her face. "Is there something in my teeth?"

Oliver shook his head. He was golden in the late afternoon sunshine. "I'm just thinking how I never could have done this without you."

"Carried all this food? I agree. You have an impressive wingspan, but not that impressive."

"No." Oliver smiled. God, she loved his smile. She'd do anything to see that man smile. "I meant the mayoral campaign. I honestly don't know if I would have believed I could do it if you hadn't believed it first." He took a deep breath. "I don't know what I'd do without you, Felicity."

Her heart stuttered. "You're getting down on one knee, why are you getting down on one knee?"

"Felicity Smoak, will you marry me?"

She'd said yes, of course she'd said yes.

He beamed. Then his smile faded. "Fuck."

Felicity blanched. "Are you reconsidering? Jesus Christ, it's been like two seconds."

"No. Of course not." Oliver scowled, patting his pockets. "I don't have the ring. I've been carrying it around for months and...fuck. I don't have it."

Felicity laughed from relief. "Is that all?" She tugged a pull 'n' peel Twizzler out of the package and wound it around her finger. "Would you look at that? A ring. How convenient." She pulled him to his feet. "Come here, you idiot."

He tasted like sunshine and licorice. "I love you," he insisted against her lips.

"Love you," she echoed. "I love you. So much."

There was a loud cheer and they looked up to find themselves projected on the giant Kiss Cam screens. Felicity flushed and hid her face in Oliver's collar. He laughed and waved to the camera, eliciting hoots from the crowd.

 _Congratulations to Mayor Queen and the future first lady. We now ask everyone to please stand for the national anthem..._

There was a sharp rap on the bedroom door.

"Felicity?" Dig called through the door. "You okay in there?"

"Yes!" She grabbed a sweatshirt from her suitcase and tugged it on over the t-shirt. "Sorry, I'm coming. Coming."

The boys were waiting for her on the couch in the living room.

Felicity dropped onto an overstuffed armchair arm chair and turned on her tablet. "Okay. So do you want the good news or the bad news first?"

Oliver and Dig glanced at each other. "Good news," Oliver said.

"Huh," Felicity said, idly tapping her fingers on the arm of the chair as she waited for the tablet to power on. "I really thought you were gonna go with the bad news." The screen glowed to life and she pulled up the file she'd put together on the case. "Alright. The good news is I found a connection. Every name on this list was brought in by SCPD during the period 2005-2010. Not just for any crime either— manslaughter, most of them."

"That can't be right," Oliver said. "That would have come up when we ran the initial background checks."

Felicity tucked her legs under herself and burrowed her chin into the collar of her sweatshirt. "It would have, if any of them had ever been formally charged. But none of them were. They were all released without charges filed. Remember Mike Daley?"

"Our dead warehouse foreman," Dig said.

"Right. In 2008 he was working his usual night shift, had a few too many beers. Ended up beating a homeless man to death after finding him sleeping in the warehouse. He was never charged for it."

Dig raised his eyebrows. "And how'd he get away with that?"

"It took me a while to fit all the pieces together. Turns out Farley Pharmaceutical, the company that owns the warehouse, paid off the then police commissioner to let Daley go, avoid the bad publicity. The arresting detective was so pissed he punched a hole in the break room wall. Got a week of unpaid leave for his trouble."

Oliver folded his arms and leaned back into the couch. "2008 was right in the middle of SCPD's run for most corrupt Police Department in the country. Half the force was on the Triad's payroll. Apparently the other half worked for the highest bidder."

"Made it hard for the few honest cops on the payroll at the time." Felicity said. "The detective in the Daley case is the same one that brought in all the others on our list. Mark Wilcox." Felicity turned her tablet around to show them a photo of Wilcox: nondescript Caucasian male, mid-thirties at the time the photo was taken, with a dark widow's peak and soft brown eyes. "He kept trying to do his job only to get undercut by corrupt higher-ups. Eventually it came to a head. He had a huge blow up with the Captain. Called him out for all the underhanded stuff that was going on. A month later he was transferred to Gotham PD."

Dig ran his hand down the side of his face. "So maybe something sets Wilcox off— he decides to take justice into his own hands by killing all the people who got off back when SCPD was more criminal than the people they were bringing in."

"Can you pull up his travel records?" Oliver said sharply. "See if he's made any trips to Star City recently?"

Felicity forced herself to look at him. It hurt, looking at him. She used to be able to read him so well but now looking at him was like looking at a mask. She had no idea what he was thinking and it was driving her slightly nuts. "I don't think there's any point."

Dig raised an eyebrow. "Felicity, you just made a very compelling argument that this is our guy."

She sighed. "Yeah, well, I haven't given you the bad news yet. A few months after Wilcox transferred to Gotham he was shot by one of the Joker's goons during a holdup at Gotham National. Mark Wilcox is dead."

There was a moment of silence. Oliver held her gaze, his face unreadable. Diggle slumped back into the couch. "So our only lead is dead. And we're right back where we started."

"I'll keep digging." Felicity grimaced. "But for now...yeah."

Oliver swore under his breath.

They sat around for a while after that, throwing out different theories but none of them seemed plausible. Oliver left soon after and Dig headed off to bed, yawning.

Felicity sat up in bed searching through the Gotham Globe archives on her laptop. She couldn't sleep. Darren Max's face—what was left of it anyway—was seared into the backs of her eyelids. Every time she closed her eyes it swum back into focus, all blood and fragments of lily white bone.

She clicked on a short article about Mark Wilcox's funeral: 'Joker Captured, City Mourns Fallen Officer'.

A photo accompanied the article. It seemed all of Gotham's upper crust had turned out for the funeral. The police commissioner, the mayor—he'd still been with his second wife then, Felicity noted—and other city leaders were all there. They formed a long row of black clad figures around the grave, shoulder hunched against a sideways rain. Felicity's mouse hovered over the second to last figure in the first row. Was that—? She enlarged the photo. There was no mistaking those dark eyes and knifelike jaw.

Bruce Wayne.

What was he doing there?

Felicity's eyelids felt like lead. She shut her laptop and shoved it onto the bedside table. She shot off a quick text to Wayne asking him to call her in the morning. Not that she expected him to have anything. He had probably just attended the funeral as a show of support for Gotham PD. Rolling onto her side, she shut her eyes.

The dream started the same way it always did.

Felicity stood outside the door to the loft, fist posed to knock. Before she could, the door opened. Oliver stood on the other side. He was holding a chubby cheeked child on his hip.  
"Finally," he said, ushering her into the apartment and shutting the door behind her. "Meeting run long?"

Felicity's eyes were trained on the baby. Was she imagining things or did it have her lips? And Oliver's eyes? "Oliver, whose kid is that?" she asked warily as he led her into the kitchen. A pan of garlic, onions, and peppers sizzled on the stove. The smell curled softly around her. Her mouth watered.

"Haha, very funny," Oliver said. "Here take her so I can finish dinner." He handed the baby to her and oh god nothing had ever felt so right in her life as having that warm weight in her arms. She was being silly. Of course this was her child, of course.

"Hi, sheina meidel." She kissed her daughter's downy head. She smelled of talcum powder and vanilla. "Hey there. Did you miss me? I missed you."

"Gah," said the baby, waving her chubby arms.

Felicity grinned. Her heart was bursting. "That means yes, right? Yes, mommy, I missed you and I love you so much more than daddy."

"Oh no," Oliver said, glancing up from the stove. "Gah' means daddy is the best and by far my favorite parent. It's common knowledge, ask anyone."

Felicity moved to stand beside him. "Oh, really?"

"Mhm." He smiled and bent down from a kiss. "Hand me the cutting board?"

A shriek ricocheted through the kitchen. The smell of cooking receded and the child was fading, Oliver was disappearing too, and Felicity recognized that it had just been a dream but oh god she didn't want to wake up.

Too late.

Felicity opened her eyes.

She was lying flat on her back in bed in the Diggles' guest room, the sheets a tangle around her legs. Pale morning light bled through the blinds and seeped across the bed. Her phone was grousing loudly by her head, threatening to vibrate itself right off the nightstand. Her fingers scrabbled blindly for a moment before they found the snooze button. The alarm died mid-shriek, leaving her in a bubble of silence.

Felicity let her eyes drift shut. It was only 7 am. Maybe she could doze off again. Maybe she'd even have the same dream...

A bird began to peck rhythmically at the windowsill.

Felicity threw off the covers and sat up. Who was she kidding; there was no way she was going back to sleep. Besides, the smell of was coffee drifted under the door, tickling her nose. Felicity pushed herself out of bed, grabbed her STAR LABS sweatshirt from her suitcase, and padded down the hall.

Lyla was sitting at the kitchen table in her work clothes, sipping from a large mug. She looked up as Felicity appeared and smiled. "Hey there."

"Coffee?" Felicity said hopefully.

Lyla looked apologetic. "It's decaff."

Felicity made a face.

"I know," Lyla sighed. "Trust me, I'm not happy about it either." She ran her hand unconsciously over her stomach. "It was doctor's orders actually."

Felicity's eyebrows shot up. "Are you—?"

Lyla smiled into her coffee. "We wanted to wait until after Sara's party to tell everyone. Didn't want to steal her thunder, you know?"

Felicity slid into the seat across the table. "Oh my god, Lyla, congratulations!"

"Thank you. We're pretty excited about it." She nodded to the cupboard. "There's some regular coffee above the toaster if you wanna make a pot. I'm sure John would appreciate it."

Felicity poured out the grounds and flipped on the machine before plopping back into her chair. "You threw a great party, by the way. Sorry we, um...bailed halfway through."

Lyla raised her eyebrows. "Oliver seemed happy to see you."

Felicity watched wisps of steam curl up from Lyla's cup. "I'm not sure happy is the right word."

Lyla hesitated.

"What?" Felicity asked.

"Do you mind if I ask what happened? You two seemed so solid." Lyla sat back, grimacing. "Sorry, you don't have to answer that. It's just, when Oliver got back from Gotham and said you guys broke up we were so shocked—"

Suddenly Felicity was sitting bolt upright. "Oliver came to Gotham?" she interrupted. "When?"

"Oh." Lyla faltered. "Um. A few months after you left. He was gone for a couple days and when he got back he said you two talked and decided to end it. Long distance was too hard..." She looked uneasy. "I probably shouldn't have said anything."

Oliver had come to Gotham? He had lied then, when he told her he wasn't coming. But why would he travel all the way across the country and then leave without seeing her? Or was Lyla simply misinformed?

Felicity's phone buzzed loudly, tearing her out of her thoughts. It was Wayne. He must have seen her message. She hadn't expected a call back so soon. "Um, I should take this," she said, glancing up at Lyla. "It's my boss."

"Right," Lyla said. "Felicity, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have said anything about Oliver. It's not my business."

"No, it's okay." Felicity stood up and started backing out of the room. "Really. Um. Don't worry about it. I'll be right back!" She let herself out the front door and immediately regretted that decision when her bare feet hit the cold stone stoop. "Bruce," she said breathlessly, tugging at the zipper on her sweatshirt. "You got my message?"

"Hello to you too," Wayne said wryly. "Couldn't go two days without talking to me?"

"Hardly. I'm actually calling on the Arrow's behalf. Five years ago, you went to the funeral of a police detective name Mark Wilcox. I was just wondering why. Did you know him?"

There was silence on the other line. "Hello?"

His voice was low, urgent. "Does the Arrow have Wilcox?"

Felicity pinched the bridge of her nose. "What? No. Mark Wilcox dead. You went to his funeral, that's why I called you."

"He's not dead."

"Excuse me?"

"He's not dead. And if he's in your city you have a much bigger problem than you realize."

Felicity took a moment to wrap her head around this new piece of information. Not dead? Of course he wasn't dead. No one stayed dead anymore. It was passé. Like Bermuda shorts and renting dvds from Netflix.

"Felicity, are you still there?"

She licked her lips once. "Yes."

"I'm coming out there. Can you pick me up from the airport?"

"You're—what now?"

"I'll be in Star City by—"there was a pause "—2:30. Pick me up from the airport. Don't be late."

"Wait—" The line cut off. He'd hung up. Felicity stared down at her phone. What the hell had just happened? Next door someone turned on a leaf blower. "Well, motherfucker," she said.


End file.
